


Like me

by SharpestRose



Series: Happy Families [2]
Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-29
Updated: 2011-06-29
Packaged: 2017-10-20 20:23:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/216762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SharpestRose/pseuds/SharpestRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A boy in the big city.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like me

**One**

Leslie takes one look at him and says "Blanket. Now", and goes to put the kettle on.

It's still raining buckets outside, and Jason's shirt is wet enough that it's clinging to him like an icy second skin. He sniffles a little, and sneezes once, as he peels it off.

"Put sugar in it!" he calls to Leslie, grabbing one of the spare blankets out of the supply room.

"Hush. Don't wear your throat out," she says, stepping out of the clinic's kitchenette with a mug of lemon tea in one hand. "Here. Sip this, and sit quietly, and hope to high heaven that you haven't caught something."

Rain drips off his hair and lands in the drink with a faint plinking noise. Leslie sighs.

"If I bought you an umbrella, would it see any use?"

Jason grins. "Nah. But it'd be great for stirring up the pigeons outside my bedroom window. I threw my math book at them yesterday and they went crazy."

"And where's the math book now?"

He shrugs, which makes the blanket slip a little on his shoulders. It's a faded mustard color, with several spots where it's been darned in contrasting colors. "Out the window somewhere, I guess."

She's looking at his shoulder. Oh, crap. Jason pulls the blanket in closer around him.

"Fighting again, Jason?" Leslie asks tiredly. "I hoped that you'd have grown out of that by now."

He'll be fifteen in a week. He's been dropping hints about wanting a baseball glove, but knowing Leslie he'll end up with a bunch of books about important historical figures and a set of pre-bought movie tickets at some arty place where the popcorn stand doesn't stock anything fun or multicolored.

The bruise a few inches above his armpit is a pretty awful one, all dark and ragged-edged and fevered-looking. It doesn't hurt anymore.

"Hey, no scolding the sick guy," he protests, and coughs weakly for show. Leslie doesn't look mollified.

"Go lie down. Get some sleep before you walk home in this torrent, at least."

He's tired and achy and cold, so he goes without further protest. The beds here aren't the comfiest in the world, but they're clean and dry and the clinic's pretty quiet for a Wednesday evening.

Falling asleep isn't something he planned on doing, but he was up most of the night before fighting with his mom again and then got litter duty during recess for sassing his English teacher. The bustle of the clinic always soothes him, which should be weird but isn't. He and his mom move around a lot, but the clinic never changes much. There's even a set of little lines marking how tall he's been over the years, on the doorframe of the staff kitchenette, and if that doesn't make it home then Jason doesn't know what home is.

He wakes up and tries to guess what time it is before looking at his watch. He guesses eleven, but it's twelve thirty-five already. His mom'll be pissed at him for being out late without calling.

The door to Leslie's office is shut. That only happens when she's really serious about being left undisturbed, but Jason figures that if she really didn't want him barging in then she wouldn't have given him a key. He wears it on the long chain around his neck, along with the key of his apartment and a cool-looking fang tooth he found in the park a few years ago.

"Leslie, I'm gonna go -" he starts to say as he opens the door and steps inside. "Oh. Hi."

Batman just nods at him. Leslie's searching through one of the filing cabinets, and doesn't look up. "There are some flannel shirts in the cabinet by the window, Jason. You can tell Sheila I kept you in until the rain stopped."

Jason nods, which is sort of useless since she isn't looking at him, and pulls the blanket up again.

It's not even like it's the first time he's seen Batman or anything. Everyone who spends any regular time at the clinic has at least caught a glimpse at some point. It's just that he's never been close enough to get a real look.

Leslie pulls an x-ray free from one of the files, and hands it across to Batman. "See what you're looking for?"

He holds it up to the light, glances at it, and hands it back. "Yes."

Jason stares. It's like watching the Terminator, or a cowboy played by Clint Eastwood, or something. Batman is _that_ cool.

"Jason?" Leslie says, in that same tone she uses when she asks him how long he's been watching the TV in the waiting area when he's supposed to be doing his homework.

He walks across the room to the cabinet where Leslie keeps the stuff kids - usually Jason - might need. There're shirts and jeans and energy bars and food vouchers, and info sheets about local shelters and soup kitchens.

The skin on his back prickles under the blanket, like he's being watched, but when Jason looks over his shoulder Batman is looking at Leslie.

"Uh, see you later, I guess," Jason says after a couple of seconds, heading for the door.

"Where do you live?" Batman asks.

Jason blinks in surprise. "Not far. Two train stops. No big deal."

"The streets are dangerous tonight. I'll drive you."

Jason tries to keep himself from smiling. The grim, serious thing is cool when it's being used for detective stuff, but in conversation it's a little silly. "Aren't the streets dangerous every night?"

Batman makes a little 'hm' sound, which Jason thinks probably means he's amused. Leslie's giving them both a hard look, but Jason can't tell what this one means, so he doesn't let it bother him.

"Lemme just grab my bag," Jason says, and leaves the office. He folds the blanket and puts it beside the pillow he slept on, then puts on the shirt Leslie said he could take. It's a little big for him, which means he's likely to get another growth spurt soon. Leslie always knows when it's time to get larger clothes ready for him. Jason calls it her secret doctor superpower.

Batman's car is parked a block down the street, in a side-alley. It's a damn fine machine, and Jason can't help but give a low whistle of approval. Batman holds the passenger door open for him, which makes Jason wonder what sort of horrible burglar-alarm traps get triggered if the wrong person touches it. He's heard a bunch of stories about the Batman at school, but never anything about anybody getting fried by his wheels.

For a couple of minutes, Jason's too awed to do anything more than give basic directions to his neighborhood, sitting quietly with his hands on his knees. Then Batman glances over at him, at the splits and scars on his knuckles, and asks "You're a fighter?"

"Aw, man," Jason sighs. "This is as bad as the time Robin chewed me out for stealing a Hot Pocket. Don't you guys have anything better to do than appear in my own personal after-school specials?"

"It was a question, not an accusation. How old are you, Jason?"

"Nearly fifteen."

"Hm," Batman says, and this time it sounds like he's thinking hard about something. He doesn't say anything else for the rest of the drive.

  
 **Two**

  
A month later, the Police Commissioner's daughter gets shot by the Joker, and Jason's mom starts checking on him in the middle of the night. With her so nervy, he can't hang out at the clinic as much, but even so it's hard for him to miss how much more often Batman's showing up.

"He's getting hurt a lot, huh?" Jason asks one morning, when he stops in on the way to school and finds Leslie sitting at her desk with her head in her hands.

She nods, and lets out a long breath. "Yes."

"Teach me how to help you."

This gets her sitting up. "What?"

"If things are worse, you need more help. Right? So teach me. I already know my way around this place better than anyone."

-

It's way against the law to let an unqualified teenager do stuff like administer IVs and stitch up cuts, so at first Leslie is kind of reluctant, but Jason knows he can wear her down.

And, after a couple of weeks, Leslie starts using words like 'triage' and phrases like 'needs must', which means he's won the battle. Three nights later, he gets to do a stomach pump on a young woman who's overdosed. Which is pretty gross, but cool too.

He's cleaning her up and checking her signs when Leslie comes over to supervise. The woman - who's still stoned out of her mind, but is gonna be okay once she's detoxed - watches them both.

"Good work," Leslie says, nodding. "You're a quick study."

"Tell that to my teachers," Jason answers with a tired grin. Working at the clinic is even better than hanging out there.

"It'd be easier if you did some schoolwork, for a change, and let them see for themselves."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah."

"Got yourself a boy wonder of your own, Leslie?" the woman asks. Her voice is hoarse, hardly more than a croaky breath.

"That's not funny, Holly." Leslie sounds annoyed.

"Sure it is, doc."

"I heard you were in San Francisco."

"Yeah, well, you know what they say about Gotham. Once you're hers, you'll never get away," the woman says, a cough becoming a dry retch against her hand.

-

One night, Jason gets held up talking to his mom, and doesn't get to the clinic until well after dinner. As is becoming increasingly usual, Leslie's door is shut. Jason's about to use his key when snatches of the conversation begin to make their way through the door.

"- failed you, by letting you create _this_ out of yourself. Don't make me a failure twice!" Leslie says angrily, her voice raised. Then there's quiet for a couple of seconds, which Jason assumes is someone else replying. He strains to hear, but can't catch more than a murmur.

"It's not the same at all," Leslie snaps, in response to whatever the other speaker has pointed out. "I'm teaching him to heal. You'd teach him to hurt."

Jason all but presses his ear to the door, but all he manages to get is "- him to _protect_." Batman's voice.

Leslie's quiet for so long that Jason's about to open the door and make sure she's okay. Then, quietly, in a voice as tired as he ever hears her get, she says "Please, Bruce. Not this boy."

Jason sneaks away from the door.

Batman's car is parked in the same place as it was the last time Jason saw it, which is most likely just Jason's dumb luck. Batman's probably got a hundred different places to keep it near the clinic.

Jason digs around in his pocket until he finds a mostly-intact cigarette in his jacket and a lighter in his jeans. The first-level fire escape balcony is easy enough to climb up to. Jason sits down and lights up.

He knows that Leslie used to look after that Bruce Wayne guy a lot when he was a kid, after his parents got murdered. Is that who Batman is? Were they really talking about Jason, or is he imagining that?

There's a scuffling noise down near the car. Jason strains his eyes to get a better look, and can just make out the silhouette of someone near the darker end of the alley. It looks like it's a kid.

"Hey, who's there?" he calls, ready to make a run for it if he has to. A whole bunch of people would be lining up to tan his hide if he got himself into trouble in this part of town. Leslie and his mom are bad enough, and now it looks like Batman's got an interest in his welfare, too.

"Nobody. Just me," the kid says.

"Come over here so I can see you, then."

He's small and nervous looking. Doesn't look like the Crime Alley type, but that doesn't really mean much. All kinds of people end up in the clinic, after all.

"Climb up," Jason offers. Even if the kid's thinking of trying something, Jason'll be able to take him down easy. "Cigarette?"

"No. Thanks." The boy climbs the ladder and sits down beside Jason.

"Good thing. I'm not sure if I have any left. I'm Jason."

"Tim."

"I guess, with the two of us getting an eyeful, 'Batman's car' just became a spectator sport."

"The Batmobile."

"What?"

"The Batmobile," Tim repeats. "That's what it's called."

"Oh. Okay." Jason takes another drag on his cigarette. "I didn't know that." Then he laughs. "Maybe _you_ should be the new Robin."

 **Three**

  
"Ow! Damn it, don't -"

"Sissy," Tim says, smiling, and dabs more antiseptic on the cut on Jason's cheekbone.

"It's gonna swell up and bruise. I can tell."

Tim nods. "I think you're right. But, beyond being sore tomorrow, I think you're fine."

"I'm sore _now_ ," Jason complains. "I can't believe I was so stupid."

"I can."

"Oh, fuck you." Jason pulls his faded flannel overshirt back on. It's a little small for him, but he doesn't want to throw it out. It's taken years to get it this soft and perfectly worn down.

"Sorry. I'll wait until you're feeling better before I mock your pain," Tim promises, and packs up the medical kit. They're sitting side-by-side on the floor of the supplies room at the clinic. It's two in the morning, and they've just got back from breaking up a brawl.

Well, Tim broke up a brawl. Jason got a couple of solid hits in, and then got his ass handed to him.

"Stop beating yourself up -"

"If you make some crack about how those skels can do it for me, you're going to be fighting crime from traction, I swear to -"

"- they were pretty top-level guys, Jay. You're not trained for that sort of combat."

Jason shrugs, and looks down at his crossed legs. Tim's in uniform but his mask and one of his gloves are off, and Jason always feels uncomfortable when he has to look at Tim like that. Which is stupid, because he's seen Tim out of costume an uncountable number of times.

"Spoiler's not trained either, and I don't see her with road rash down one arm. How is she, anyway? Feels like it's been ages since she's come to hang."

"Didn't you hear?" Tim asks. Jason shakes his head, heart suddenly in his throat. Nothing but really bad news ever starts with 'didn't you hear'. "She's pregnant."

"Fuck," Jason says.

"I don't think she's too bad, considering," Tim replies, reaching across Jason and grabbing ahold of his arm, turning it to get a look at the road rash. "Ever noticed how there're some people who are always basically okay, no matter what? Steph's one of those. She's embarrassed that it's happened, but she's got the adoption all lined up already. She'll be fine."

Jason thinks of his mom. Some people are always basically okay, and some never are. It's just one of those things.

Tim's inspecting the grazes on Jason's arm, bare hand on Jason's wrist. "If I showed up with an injury like this, what would you do?"

"Come on, that antiseptic stings like a bitch. It'll be fine. There's no gravel in it," Jason complains. He's going to pull his arm free of Tim's grip any second now. And, for his next trick, he'll get his breathing back to normal, and stop looking at Tim's mouth.

"But if it were me, you'd make me dress it. Admit it," Tim teases. "Tough Guy Jason Todd hates iodine."

"We're not all trained in freaky hot-coal meditation, y'know," Jason manages to retort, just before Tim kisses him.

Jason jolts a little, knocking his head against the shelf behind him. Tim breaks away and looks at the floor.

"Sorry. I mean. I was just. Sor -" he starts to stammer, so Jason turns his head and restarts the kiss. The skin at the outer corner of Tim's eye is soft and warm, a little damp from a night under the mask, and Jason strokes it with his thumb.

Tim's own hand tightens on Jason's wrist, and it's only then that Jason notices that Tim didn't let go of it. Tim's hands are strong, purposeful, wonderful things, and when Jason slips his tongue between Tim's lips the fingers holding his arm spasm slightly. There's a tremble in Tim's skin.

So Jason angles his head a bit better, and decides that he'll be perfectly happy to stay kissing forever. He can tell Tim's eyes are closed, because Jason can feel the brush of lashes against his cheek.

He wants to say something dumb and funny, to make Tim laugh. Jason likes it when he makes Tim laugh. But that would mean using his mouth for something other than sucking on Tim's lip, and remembering how to talk, and he's not really interested in either of those things.

Tim moves his other hand, still in its gauntlet, to Jason's thigh. It feels heavier than Tim's hand, and colder. Not a part of Tim at all. It's a part of Robin, and Jason's sort of kissing Tim and Robin both at once, or maybe somebody halfway between the two. He can't understand why someone like that, someone so freaky and smart and strong and sneaky, would want to hang out with a regular guy like Jason.

But it seems to work for Tim. His hand on Jason's arm has crept up to where he pushed the cuff of the overshirt up, to look at the road rash. Jason stops kissing Tim for long enough to shrug the shirt off entirely. He wants every molecule of skin he has to be bare, if it'll mean that Tim will keep touching him. Or, even better...

"Show me how to take your suit off," Jason says breathlessly, stroking Tim's neck just above the collar of his cape. It seems suddenly reckless that he doesn't know the trick of this already - what if Tim came to the clinic badly hurt, and Jason didn't know how to strip him? Why hasn't he ever thought of this before?

Oh, right. Because he got all tongue-tied when he saw so much as Tim's hand.

Tim nods, and moves his hand off Jason's arm. Tugs on a hidden catch on the collar, and the cape falls free.

Jason makes a choked noise, and bites kisses along the line of Tim's chin and down onto his neck. There's no way he can handle Tim being more naked than he presently is. Just a few inches of extra skin has pretty much killed any higher thoughts Jason has beyond 'touch now'.

One of his hands, which was battling against the gel in Tim's hair, moves to rest against the back of that newly-bared neck, and the other is somewhere around the small of Tim's back. Tim's spine is curving so that he's pressing against both of Jason's hands and leaning in to the path of Jason's mouth as well, and Jason doesn't think it's fair that Tim can be so swathed in armor and still bend that much.

Tim pulls his remaining glove off with his teeth, sliding both his now-bare hands down Jason's sides to the hem of his t-shirt.

"Jay," Tim says, sounding uncertain. Tim never sounds uncertain about anything, unless he's playing at it for a reason. He hasn't sounded like that since the earliest times Jason met him. "Can I touch you? Is that okay?"

"Touching me now," Jason murmurs against Tim's throat. And Tim is, both hands against Jason's back now.

"No, I mean -" Tim moves one of his hands around, tracing the waistband of Jason's pants to the fly.

The only thing Jason remembers how to say is "Tim", which isn't exactly an answer but seems close enough. He moves away from Tim's neck and back up to his mouth, surprised that he could forget how perfect Tim's tongue feels against his just in the couple of minutes since they last did this.

Somewhere out in the clinic, the metallic clatter of a knocked-over suture tray slices through all the other sounds. Jason's glad he put a bolt on the inside of the door to this room, as well as the standard lock-from-the-outside handle. It would be hard to explain the current situation to some poor volunteer nurse looking for extra bandages.

Tim pulls the zipper down and slips his hand inside, and the only reason Jason doesn't end up breaking the kiss due to sensory overload is because Tim's very good at tracking another person's movements with his own.

Tim's hand. Tim's hard, precise, weaponlike hand, finding a rhythm which makes Jason gasp against Tim's mouth and scrabble his own hands against Tim's thighs.

The soreness which was making him feel stiff and exhausted before is like a blunt ache all over Jason's body now, shot through with warmth in the places Tim has touched him. "Wanna keep doing this forever," he mutters. Which is a lie, because pretty soon he's gonna need to come or risk losing his mind permanently, but it's the truth as well.

Tim's making more noise than Jason now, quiet groans which take on a higher pitch when Jason decides to test how hard he has to rub before Tim can feel it through his armor.

"Only because -" Tim gasps out, interrupting himself with a cry that almost sounds like pain. "You don't want to go home."

"Like you can talk," Jason answers. If he had any air spare, he might even laugh a little at that. Some people are basically okay, and some aren't, and Jason's not sure which of those types he and Tim are.

"We're so fucked up," offers Tim by way of agreement. It always gives Jason a thrill when Tim's reduced to swearing.

"Hey, it got us here." Which makes everything worthwhile. Even the way Jason knows that the fact he hangs out here is the only reason that Two Face's local protection racket never bothers the clinic. Even the way his mom's always got something snide to say when Jason mentions that he wants to do emergency nursing after he's through with high school. Even the way he picks fights between classes and they never feel like enough of whatever it is that he's chasing.

"Jay," Tim breathes between clenched teeth, shuddering hard as he comes. The movement of his hand on Jason doesn't even falter, and it's that as much as it is the touch which makes Jason press his forehead against Tim's shoulder and bite his lip to keep in a shout.

Tim's other hand comes up and presses against the graze on Jason's arm, palm damp with sweat and fingers squeezing in time with Jason's panting breaths.

"Tim, I'm gonna," Jason huffs, burying his face against the crook of Tim's neck when he comes. Tim makes the same small satisfied hum as he does when he tracks down a piece of key evidence, and lets Jason lie boneless against him for a few minutes.

"This uniform's going to become incredibly gross to be in really soon," he says eventually. "In case you were wondering."

Jason snorts. "You can be Gross, and I'll be Sore. Dynamic duo for the new millennium."

"Villains of Gotham quake in fear."

"Villains of the _world_ , Robin. Don't sell us short."

Tim laughs a little, and covers Jason's hand with his own.


End file.
